


Binding White Collar

by CoffeeDrip



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, F/M, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Priest Castiel, Priest Dean, Priests, Secret Relationship, Seminary, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 11:50:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6517534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeDrip/pseuds/CoffeeDrip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1943. The world is at war again and Dean Winchester is at war with himself. To avoid his family's suspicions and hide his own homosexuality, he seeks refuge in the seminary. There, he meets the sarcastic and handsome Castiel Novak, who is only there because that was the path always expected of the second sons of his prestigious family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This work is going to play second-fiddle to my existing multi-chapter work, "The Secrets Baby Holds". However, this one wouldn't let me go til I got it onto paper. I am not a Catholic but I am a two-time graduate of a Catholic university and I work for a Catholic organization so I am writing this based on my knowledge and some research. I can't guarantee regular updates but I promise they will come. Probably faster after the other story is completed in a couple of months. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The sunlight behind the stained glass windows of St. Paul’s Roman catholic Church cast the chapel of the aging structure in a pattern of orange and blue light. The sun, and the soft glow of the candles, were the only illumination. 

The church was as familiar to Dean as his own home. His mother, Mary, was a devout Catholic who attended morning mass almost every day, and Dean had spent many Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings tucked into one of the pews. Now, he was simply there in an attempt to find comfort for his troubled mind. 

Dean turned 18 in a week’s time and his father was breathing down his neck about registering for the military. The world was at war, and John himself had served in the Great One. He expected his oldest son to do the same. Plenty of boys from the neighborhood had already gone off to fight, and Dean’s best friend Benny planned to do so as soon as they graduated. It was the American thing to do, they said. 

It wasn’t what Dean wanted. The things Dean wanted, he wasn’t supposed to want. It had been that way for years, ever since John had walked in on Mary teaching Dean how to bake a pie when he was ten. After that day, Dean had walked the line his father drew for him - do well in school, play sports, be a man. Go to war, come home if he survives, take up his place at the family engine repair shop with John and Uncle Bobby. Marry some nice girl and have a family. 

It was that last part that was perhaps the most objectionable to Dean. He had always known on some level that he was attracted to men, and he knew that if anyone discovered his secret, he would be sent to an institution to be “cured” of his disorder. Dean wasn’t opposed to the idea of defending his country on the battlefields of Europe and Asia, but he couldn’t play the role his father desired for him here at home. 

Dean knelt behind the pew and rested his forehead on his clasped hands, breathing in deeply through his nose before speaking to God, or whomever was listening. “God, it’s me, Dean Winchester. I never ask for much cause I don’t need anything. But right now, I don’t know what to do and I can’t talk to anyone about it without losing my family and my freedom. Lord, if you really are there, can you send me some sort of sign, some way of knowing what you intend for me? I’m scared, and I feel alone. Mom says you’re always with me, and that Angels are watching over me. So if that’s true, God, just give me a sign. Please.” 

He didn’t end his prayer with “amen”, preferring to talk to God like he was a friend and not some all-powerful entity. He instead fell silent and closed his eyes. Behind him, he heard the heavy doors to the church open and felt a gust of cold winter wind howl inside, catching the leaflets and brochures piled along the door by the exit and sending them fluttering further in toward the altar. One of these managed to make it all the way up to the pew Dean was perched in, smacking him in the back of the head. He grumbled, and reached behind himself to grab the paper, intending to crumple it up and throw it out as he left. However, he stopped when he caught sight of the title, _“Are you seeking God, or is he seeking you? How to know if you have a calling to religious life.”_

“The priesthood,” Dean whispered. It was perfect - a legitimate reason to remain single and celibate, and a respectable pursuit for a young man from a Catholic family. 

It was the answer he'd been seeking - Dean Winchester was going to become a priest.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet Castiel.

He dropped his battered suitcase to the floor of the room, taking in the austere interior of the dorm room he would be living in. Two white metal single beds, two dressers, two desks with white metal chairs and a lamp, two bookcases, two wardrobes, and a closet. Since Dean was the first one in, he figured he got his choice of sides, and he moved to the left bed. 

“You sure about this, son?” His dad asked him as he followed him into the space. This wasn’t the first time he’d asked, but it would be the last. There was no turning back after the rest of the Winchester clan headed back to Lawrence and left Dean behind. 

“Stop it, John. You aren’t going to change the poor boy’s mind. There’s nothing wrong with the Priesthood,” Mary admonished, sweeping into the space and smiling gently at Dean. When Dean had broken the news to his parents all those months ago that he wanted to pursue religious life after high school, Mary had almost cried with happiness. She later confided in Dean that she was overjoyed at having a Priest in the family, but she was also thankful he wouldn’t be drafted onto the front lines of the war. If he was drafted, he’d become a member of the Clergy Corps. While still dangerous, he wouldn’t be expected to engage in the battles with the other men. It was the most a mother could hope for.

“It’s alright, Mom. And yes, I’m sure, Pop,” Dean replied. “There’s nothing greater in life than serving God.” 

From behind John, Dean’s little brother Sam gave him a skeptical look, but smartly kept his mouth shut. The 14-year-old had spent many a night discussing Dean’s decision with him and doing enough second-guessing for them both. Sam didn’t believe Dean truly wanted to be a man of the cloth, but he couldn’t get his brother to budge on the idea. 

Mary helped Dean unpack and hang his things, ironing each of his shirts, jackets, and pants before putting them away. John checked the structural integrity of the furnishings, and Sam looked bored and stared out the window at the lawn. 

It was a little less than an hour before Dean’s roommate shuffled in. He was alone, dressed in a suit and trenchcoat, and wheeling a trunk behind him. 

“Oh, hello there! You must be Dean’s roommate!” Mary greeted as the other boy took them in with wide, brilliantly blue eyes. 

“It would appear so,” the other boy answered, and damn if that voice wasn’t rough and wonderful in Dean’s ears. “I’m Castiel Novak.” 

Dean stepped forward then and cleared his throat, offering his hand for the other boy to shake. “Dean. Dean Winchester. This is my mom, Mary; my Pops, John, and my little brother, Sammy.” 

“It’s Sam,” Sam grumbled from his perch by the window. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Castiel said, his tone flat. Mary either failed to pick up on his disinterest or chose to ignore it. 

“Do you need help unpacking, Castiel?” She offered sweetly. There was nothing fake about Mary’s sincerity, either - that wasn’t her way. Mary Winchester was without a doubt one of the most kind-hearted and selfless people Dean had ever known, and he didn’t think that simply because she was his mom. 

“Oh, um, no, that’s alright Mrs. Winchester. Thank you,” the dark-haired boy seemed confused by Mary’s offer, tipping his head to the side and squinting at her as he answered. 

“Well then, if you’re all set then, I guess we should be gettin’ on the road,” John said. “I’m sure Dean can help with anything you may need assistance with, ain’t that right, boy?” 

“Yes, sir,” Dean said with a nod. Mary then swept over to him and pulled him into a tight hug. Dean could feel the rosary beads she wore around her neck pressing into him as she squeezed. Dean wrapped his arms around her and breathed in her familiar appley scent, committing it to memory. 

“I will miss you,” Mary murmured, and Dean sighed. 

“I’ll miss you too, Mom,” he whispered back. Then, he stepped back from her and shook hands with his father and brother. “I’ll write, I promise,” he said by way of farewell. He watched as his family retreated out the door of his dorm room, and then sat down hard on his bed, wrinkling the sheets and blanket out of their military-precision tidiness. He looked across the room at Castiel, who was unpacking his trunk, not bothering with the iron before he shoved them unceremoniously in drawers or the wardrobe. 

“You know you you’ll just have to iron them in the morning, right?” Dean piped up, referring to the dress code enforced by the seminary school. His roommate ignored him and Dean shook his head and lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling tiles. After a long moment, his roommate’s deep voice startled him. 

“I don’t know how to iron,” Castiel confessed. Dean looked over at him, the question on his face was easily read. “My family is very wealthy. I have never had to do anything for myself.” 

“Oh,” Dean said dumbly. He wouldn’t have guessed, looking at the other boy, that his family had any sort of wealth. The suit he wore was ill-fitting and the jacket he had walked in wearing seemed worn. He just assumed Castiel was from a proper middle-class American family like himself. “Um, would you like me to show you?” 

Castiel seemed embarrassed by his lack of skill, and merely nodded curtly, a flush coloring his skin. Dean smiled and sat up, swinging his feet off the bed and striding over to the other side. “Lucky for you, Mary Winchester thought it was important for her sons to learn basic housekeeping skills,” Dean commented. It was a strange thing for a woman to teach her boys, but Mary insisted that they would thank you if they ever found themselves single and on their own. 

“Yes, I suppose that is lucky,” the other boy murmured. 

“Ok, c’mere Cas,” Dean waved him over to the ironing board. Castiel scrunched up his face, remaining fixed in place and looking strangely at Dean.

“Cas?” Castiel repeated, the question evident in his tone. 

“Oh, uh, sorry - Castiel is kind of a mouthful, you know? If you’d rather I didn’t call you that, I won’t.” 

Cas made his way over to Dean’s side, and shook his head. “No, no… it’s fine. It’s just, I’ve never had a nickname before.” 

Dean was preparing one of Castiel’s white shirts on the ironing board, the battered old American Beauty iron itself heating off to the side. “You’ve had a sheltered life, Cas,” Dean commented. “Ok, pay attention now, if you don’t do it right you’ll end up with a ruined shirt.” 

Ca stood just behind Dean’s shoulder as he showed him how to properly press his shirt and ensure the collar was smooth and crisp. 

“Think you can handle it?” Dean asked the other boy after he had finished with the garment. Cas merely nodded and took it in his hands, staring down at it like it would bite. Dean huffed. “You sure?” He raised an eyebrow, staring disbelieving at his roommate. 

“I… uh, yes. I can,” Castiel responded. Dean clapped him on the back once and then grinned. 

“Good! Took Sammy three times watching before he figured it out, and he’s a the smartest kid I know.” 

“Thank you, Dean.” The dark-haired boy said sincerely. “It is strange, having to tend to matters myself.” Dean handed him a hangar and helped him to adjust the shirt so that it sat properly on the item. 

“How come a rich kid like you is here anyway?” Dean inquired, handing another rumpled item over as he hung the pressed shirt inside of the wardrobe. 

“I am the second son,” Cas licked his lips, and spoke again. “The second son of the Novaks always enters the priesthood. If my twin Gabriel had been born first, it would be him standing here in my place.” 

“A twin, huh? How many siblings do you have?” 

“Michael is the oldest. He will take over the family business when my father steps down. Then there is Hester, my older sister. She is married to a senator, they just had their first child. I was the third, born two minutes before by brother Gabriel, who has decided to spite Father and moved to California after graduation to stay with our uncle, who is a professor at Berkeley. Our sister Hael is the baby. She is 16.” 

Dean let out a whistle and, satisfied that Castiel wasn’t going to burn his shirt, moved back to his side of the room to sit down. “That’s impressive,” he noted. 

“Just be glad it is me and not Gabriel you are rooming with,” Castiel told him. “He is insufferable.”


End file.
